(AN: Based loosely on something that actually happened, not to me, but to
my brother, although details have been changed to protect the easily
embarrassed.)

Wufei never saw the ditch. Riding along at nearly top speed, trying out his
new dirt bike, he was focused on the smooth sound of the engine and the
wind singing through his ears. The feeling of absolute freedom he always
got when riding a motorcycle.

What a great place to ride, too. Miles of dirt roads, jumps and trails, all
his. He was totally alone because it was a weekday.

He'd been there before, but not on this particular trail.

The feeling when he saw the huge crevasse of knowing he'd never make it was
quickly replaced by absolute terror as he lost control and heard the
sickening crunch of bone hitting metal before he mercifully lost
consciousness.

Pain. No stranger to a Gundam pilot. He gritted his teeth as he tentatively
moved his head upon opening his eyes. Thank whatever powers there were for
protective riding gear. It had probably saved his life. He reached up and
felt his helmet and was astonished to find it had a large crack in it.

He moved his limbs very slowly and gasped as a sharp pain shot through his
left thigh. He reached down. Blood. A compound fracture, no doubt. Shit.

He felt woozy. Shock was setting in quickly, from pain, blood loss and now
the realization that he was probably seriously injured. His protective
chest plate had at least prevented internal injuries. No broken ribs. At
least there was that.

They'd come looking for him. He'd told Quatre and Trowa at the house they
were all staying at that he would be back in a few hours. They'd come. He
looked around to see if the daypack he'd strapped to his bike was within
reach.

He groaned as he realized he'd have to move a few feet to get near enough.
The bike was totaled. He barely looked at it. His entire focus was on
moving that one meter.

He pushed himself up on his elbows and slowly inched over to the bike. Each
movement of his leg made him nauseous. Swallowing bile, he continued.

Finally, he was able to reach the buckle of the strap that held the pack
on. Water. He reached inside and grabbed the bottle of water inside and
drank deeply.

And promptly vomited it all back up, retching and gasping, rolling to the
side to keep from spewing on himself. He groaned with disgust and wiped his
mouth. "Slowly," he muttered to himself.

Fortunately, the ground was sandy and not too uncomfortable. He reached
into the pack, searching for something to wrap around his bleeding thigh.

A flannel shirt was inside, and he pulled a strip off the bottom and bound
it tightly above the wound, then put his belt over the cloth and tightened
it, trying to slow the bleeding. The bone ends must have missed his artery,
or he'd already have bled to death, he knew that. In that respect, he was
lucky.

Lying back carefully on the hard sandy soil, he waited to be rescued.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"He's not back," said Quatre, looking at Heero and wringing his hands. "He
said he'd be back in a couple of hours. I should have never let him go
riding alone."

Trowa nodded, putting a comforting hand on Quatre's shoulder. He hated it
when his sensitive companion got upset.

"Well, let's not sit here with our thumbs up our asses!" said Duo, "What
are we waiting for?"

Heero nodded, and Duo recognized the "mission accepted" face his stoic
friend now put on. As usual, action was his forte, not words. He was
already moving to grab a few necessary items and heading out the door to
the Jeep he was currently driving.

Duo was close behind, braid flying as he ran after Heero and claimed
shotgun in the Jeep.